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<title>Hancock County Jochebed by thebaseofallmetaphysics</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442712">Hancock County Jochebed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaseofallmetaphysics/pseuds/thebaseofallmetaphysics'>thebaseofallmetaphysics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gothic, Original Fiction, Southern Gothic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:28:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442712</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaseofallmetaphysics/pseuds/thebaseofallmetaphysics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>throwing a flash fiction on this site for safe keeping</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hancock County Jochebed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She took the quiet route and made sure no one saw them.<br/>
Rusty early morning orange above the horizon blended with the color of her pickup truck and the Georgia clay that kicked up from the back tires as she sped down unpaved roads, roads less travelled, frantic pressure on the acceleration, knowing that if she slowed for a moment to think, she’d falter and turn back.<br/>
Through fleeting looks in the rearview mirror, she saw them both still asleep behind her. The basket sitting on the passenger seat was still upright.<br/>
She tried to convince herself the unremitting droning of the engine sounded like rain or thunder or something else that could remind her how big the world was outside of the small scope of her little life<br/>
It was all one hue—the sky, ground, ruddy trunks of trees dead for winter. The green LED cross sitting on the church lawn was an offensive contrast, and she could still see its verdant glow in her peripheral vision as she gave one more look to the backseat. One of her children was stirring awake, rubbing his eyes with his little hands in fists. He had no idea.<br/>
She could feel the cross passing all its mortal judgement on her as she continued.<br/>
Every pebble in the parking lot meant an inch closer, and each one made her stomach grip itself tighter. Her hands were numbed to chills as she shifted into reverse and backed up to the front door.<br/>
More frenetic looks around the property reaffirmed that she was alone. She thanked God no one else was here yet this early in the morning, but she doubted whether or not he wanted to hear what she had to say to him.<br/>
Her words to both her boy and girl were rushed and simple whispers: you’re safer here; it’ll be okay; God is with you; I love you so much.<br/>
She handed them the basket, which was full of their favorite toys, apples, and a note that was more asking for forgiveness than it was an explanation.<br/>
Give this letter to the nice pastor man when he sees you, she told them.<br/>
Her car kicked more billows of orange dust behind it, obscuring the cross’s glow from her vision as she left.</p>
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